In the Beginning
by legalliz
Summary: A prequel of sorts featuring a side character, a main character, and a wild explanation of why things are the way they are in the Plum universe. Rated T for now for the occasional bit of language. Disclaimer: all of the characters belong to Ms. Evanovich, and I make no money from this wild background saga I've concocted.


_A/N: Sorry to all of you anxiously waiting for an update on Better Late Than Never. I'll get back to it soon, I promise, but in the meantime this little gem wouldn't leave me alone. And_ _ **someone**_ _thought it would be a good idea for me to post it even though the other story isn't finished yet. So you all have that someone to blame/thank for this new story. Hope you all enjoy!_

Pop.

The air sizzled at the sudden disruption of its particles, and then everything went quiet and settled. The young man who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere stepped out of the shadows and began taking in his surroundings.

He inhaled a quick breath as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The walls towering above him were brick, the floor cement, and something pungent lingered in the air like an organic blend of sweat and earth. Warehouse, he mused, shaking his head.

It was always a warehouse.

Suddenly something clanged off in the distance, and he took a few cautious steps toward the noise. The hair began to prickle along his neck and arms, and he knew his target was near. Perfect. His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. This was almost too easy.

He pressed himself against a wall and cracked his neck, gearing up for what was to come. With any luck, he'd be back on that beach with the sun, sand, and the girls in just a few short hours. Maybe with a chilled beer or two. It was his favorite part about his contract. When he wasn't working…

His mind drifted for a moment, settling on a particularly delicious memory from a few weeks ago. One with a lot of golden skin and eyes so blue he thought he'd drown in them. Too bad he'd already forgotten her name. That was part of the contract too. No attachments.

But sometimes he wondered what it would be like to remember. Maybe a particular look or laugh. All those little details that made up a lifetime for everyone else. The things he was destined never to have. Fate, as it were, had other plans for him. But sometimes he still took the time to wonder.

His feet moved along the dusty floor; silent, almost impossibly so. And his mind continued to drift. The distraction, although subtle, kept him from hearing the other man in the shadows. Kept him from sensing his presence until it was almost too late.

The cool steel of a semiautomatic rifle pressed between his shoulder blades, and for the first time in his life, he nearly jumped in surprise.

"Who the hell are you?" growled a deep voice from behind him.

"That's probably a longer story than we've got time for right now," he replied.

"Guess I should just blow your ugly head off then. How about that?"

He slowly turned to face his assailant. Even through the distortion of the darkness, the figure wasn't who he'd been expecting. The handsome, dark skinned man was dressed in army fatigues, young but with eyes that had probably lived a few lifetimes already. His physique was fit. Muscular, but not overly so, and his posture exuded a certain level of calm and control. Probably something learned, he decided, because there was also a hint of impulsivity hiding just below the surface. A silent threat that bad things could happen if his careful control suddenly slipped.

And damn if there wasn't something amusing about him. Something in the eyes.

And there was something else too. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on even after several years of reflection. It was the very something that inspired the quick change in plans.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Nice to meet you. I'm…" He thrust his hand out in standard greeting, but the other man smacked it away with the rifle. His eyes darkened.

"I don't give a shit about your name." The barrel of the gun moved to his forehead. "I've got a mission to complete, and that's what I intend to do. Wanna know why? Because I'm the best. And you… You're not a member of my team. Wanna know what that makes you?" His eyes narrowed. "The enemy. I have strict orders on what's supposed to happen to the enemy here today, and I hate to break it to you, but it's not going to be your lucky day."

He shrugged. "But it could be yours."

There was a brief moment of hesitation from the other man. Something subtle, but he could tell he'd piqued his interest.

"You like what you do?" he continued casually, sweeping the sandy hair from his eyes.

"Shut up."

"What if I told you I had a better offer?"

"I said shut up," the man growled. The gun shook in his hand as he rammed it against his temple, the careful control quickly slipping away.

"Let me guess. You like the adrenaline, right? The thrill of the hunt? These missions, they make the blood in your veins feel like an electrical current coursing through your body, don't they? It's better than sex, right?"

"Shut _up_!"

"Could just be me, but I think you said that already."

For a fraction of a second, the control broke completely. His hand came around his throat so seamlessly, it was like poetry in motion. Minus the brief crushing of his throat. There was nothing poetic about that.

He sputtered and choked when the hand finally released its grip. "Not cool, man. You've got me seriously rethinking this whole proposition thing."

The other man's eyes stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?"

"Would it surprise you if I said I get that a lot?"

He barked a low laugh and shook his head. "You're a dead man. You know that, right? And you want to waste your last breaths on some stupid proposition?"

He shrugged. "I'm told it's a pretty good one."

The gun lowered, and the other man crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Fine. You get three minutes. Go ahead and dazzle me."

He flashed him a grin. "You said you're the best, right? What if I told you you could be even better?"

"I'd say that's some pretty big talk coming from a guy who's dressed like..." He scanned him from head to toe. "What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?"

"Comfortable."

"Right."

"You could be comfortable too, you know."

"No offense, but dressing like you isn't a very good selling point. You look like a beach bum."

"Ah, but it gets better."

"I sure hope so. For your sake."

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and the hair prickled along his neck again. His cocky smile slowly disappeared as he leaned in closer to the other man.

"Listen," he continued in a harsh whisper. "I'm kind of on a tight schedule here, and I don't care what weird scenario you've got running through that pretty little head of yours; I'm not who you think I am. In fact, I'd bet you a million bucks we've got a common enemy here."

"You?"

"Funny. But see, the thing is, I think I could use your help. We could be like a team and walk away with both our missions fulfilled. How does that sound?"

"Foolish," the other man deadpanned. "I work alone."

He blew out a frustrated sigh. Things weren't normally this difficult, but he had to admit, part of him liked the challenge. e "I usually do too, but sometimes you have to know when to hedge your bets."

The footsteps grew louder, and at the sudden change in foot pattern he realized too late he'd run out of time. He shook his head and frowned. "Well, shit. Normally I have a little longer to let the recruits think about the offer, but given the extenuating circumstances, I'm afraid we're not going to have that luxury. Sorry to have to do this to you."

He gripped the man's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, whispering an ancient incantation. The other man was so surprised, he didn't even attempt to resist until their heads came apart.

"What the hell did you just do to me?" he gasped, shaking out his arms.

"Sorry, but that discussion's probably going to have to wait for later."

"No," he said, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and shoving him hard against the bricks. "You'll tell me right now, or else your brains are going to end up all over this wall."

Neither had time to consider the threat. In a flash, a great beast stood snarling behind them; its eyes glowing a terrifying yellow, the glint of its gnashing teeth revealing its deadly intent.

"Well, don't just stand there," he yelled. "Run!" His body suddenly came away from the wall, and the two sprinted toward the only open doorway. They bolted up a stairwell and took off into the darkness.

"You're going to tell me why I know where I'm going, right? Especially since I've never been in this building before?"

"Maybe you just have a good sense of direction."

The other man glanced over. "Right. And the beast wearing the red converse?"

Had he not been out of breath, he probably would have laughed. "You noticed, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to." The two continued running through the labyrinth of pathways in the warehouse, the angry beast still hot on their heels.

"That's Horace. I think you've been tracking him because he's linked to the disappearances of some prominent UN diplomats. I've been tracking him because he violated his probation agreement. We'd probably both prefer he were back in Siberia."

They made it to the roof and slammed the heavy door behind them.

"Can your pal, Horace, get through steel doors?"

He slumped over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Normally, no. But right now… Let's just say, I wouldn't put it past him."

There was a loud thump as a heavy object collided with the door. Horace sounded very determined to get to the other side.

"What's the plan then?" asked the man in the fatigues.

He held up a finger and took a few more deep breaths. "Normally Horace and I would just have a little chat and head back to headquarters. He's usually pretty agreeable when he's not… Well, you know."

"But now?" The other man raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Well, now I've gotta figure out how to slip on this thing." He reached into one of his faded jeans pockets and pulled out something resembling a dog muzzle made of jewels and gold.

The other man frowned. "Yeah. Good luck with that."

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I've got places to be. My team's waiting for me back at ground zero."

"Actually you've been given a new assignment."

He paused mid-stride and glanced back. "Funny. Uncle Sam isn't usually too agreeable when it comes to broken contracts."

The pounding against the door grew louder and was made infinitely more interesting now thanks to the intermittent howling from the other side.

"Uncle Sam makes exceptions." He glanced at the door and sighed. "Tell you what. You distract Horace long enough for me to get this muzzle on, and I'll treat you to the best steak dinner of your life."

The other man made a face. "You really suck at making deals, you know that?"

He shrugged. "I'm a work in progress."

"And if I don't help you?"

"Horace eats us and we die." It was a small lie, but the whole death thing was something he didn't want to have to explain at the moment. It tended to make people uncomfortable.

One of the door's hinges snapped off, the other hung on by a bent hinge and a bolt. "Guess I don't have much of a choice then." The man raised his rifle and aimed at the door. "I sure hope you're better with that muzzle than you are with negotiations."

"So do I."

He cringed as the door busted away from its frame, and the terrible beast made its grand entrance. A shot rang out. Then another.

"We want him alive!" he yelled as he charged the beast.

The scuffle that ensued was a tangle of claws and teeth and savage movements, but the end result was satisfactory. Horace lay spent in a heap, breathing hard, but with the golden muzzle firmly in place. He growled as the two men moved a safe distance away.

"He a werewolf?" the man in army fatigues asked, nodding over at the heaving mound of fur.

"I suppose that's one way to look at it." He knelt down and rolled to his back, staring up at the endless stars in the sky. The pain was already starting to settle in.

"Looks like you could use some medical attention there. That gash in your arm is bleeding pretty good."

He laughed. "It's not as bad as it looks. Besides, the leg's worse." He pulled up the fabric on his left leg to reveal a fairly obvious break. "Horace is one mean sonofabitch when there's a full moon." The beast snarled from across the roof. "Yeah, buddy," he called back. "I'm talking about you."

"So what now? I can't just leave you up here to bleed out."

He worked himself into a sitting position and glanced up at the sky again. "They'll probably send someone for us sooner or later. It's standard protocol."

"Guess it's time to go our separate ways then."

"I wish it were that simple." He took a moment to weigh his options and finally settled on a course of action. "Tell you what. Why don't I take care of everything with Horace here, and you head on back to your unit? You get a couple weeks of R&R, then I'll meet up with you to go over the details of your new employment."

The other man glanced at Horace then back at the bloody stranger. "You were serious."

"I was," he confirmed. "And don't worry. You were going to accept my offer anyway. Horace just sped up the process a bit."

"What are you saying? You can see the future?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. Like I said, I'm kind of a work in progress."

The man in the army fatigues shook his head and headed for the damaged door.

"Wait. I have something for you." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a plain white business card. The other man walked over and took it from his outstretched hand, quirking an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean? It just says 'Diesel.'"

"That's my name, moron."

"Diesel," he repeated, giving him a look.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"Maybe. Besides there's usually more on here. Where's the phone number and the address."

He grinned. "It's more of a 'don't call us, we'll call you' thing. The higher ups like to keep a low profile."

"Good to know. Too bad I don't give my business card to random strangers," he added with a smirk as he turned to leave again.

"No worries. I already know who you are, Ricardo Carlos Manoso."

He faltered at the stairwell. "How'd you know my name?"

"They said I'd meet you at some point." Diesel paused and studied him a moment in silent assessment. "They said it would be important."

Manoso's steely gaze met his. "Important? How so?"

"How about I explain over that steak dinner I owe you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm a vegetarian."

"Bullshit. I know a steak-eater when I see one. Besides, you'll want to be there. Trust me."

"And why would I want to do that? You annoy the hell out of me."

"Because you're the hero, and you'll need training if you're going to save the world."

Manoso barked a laugh. "I'm going to wake up tomorrow with a really bad hangover, aren't I? This here is a prime example of the high quality shit drunken delusions are made of."

"It is. But don't be surprised if you wind up at a steak joint two weeks from today anyway. Your drunken delusions aren't that creative."

He shook his head. "Whatever you say. It was nice meeting you, Diesel, but I hope I never have the pleasure of seeing you again."

With a final glance over his shoulder, Ricardo Carlos Manoso disappeared down the stairwell, and Diesel took a moment to think about the man he'd just met. Surely they'd gotten it wrong. The girl would never agree to work with him. He was too… Cocky? Rude? Boorish? Damn, the list of his shortcomings was endless.

But that was the funny thing about people. They always had the potential to change. Only time would tell with Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Actually, only time would tell with any of it.


End file.
